The Bruised Hero
by FredandGeorgefreak
Summary: A fun day at the beach turns into Arthur's living nightmare. FACE family with mentions of FrUK.


_**I do not own Hetalia.**_

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Another wave of panic hit Arthur as he watched a blond haired, five-year-old boy splash his identical twin brother, sending him flailing backwards into the ocean. Only letting go of his breath when the latter resurfaced, he shot an icy glare at the man sitting next to him.

"Remind me why this was a smart idea again?"

The Frenchman simply laughed it off. Currently lounging on a long, blue beach chair, Francis lowered his sunglasses down his nose, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh, Arthur, lighten up," Francis said, poking at the other's leg with his toes. Yelping when his foot was kicked away, he pursed his lips at the Briton. "Wow. 'ou really are a stick in ze mud, aren't 'ou?" He received another sharp kick.

After much discussion, the two Europeans had decided it would be a good idea to get out of their house for once. Due to the nice weather and shining sun, Francis had taken the opportunity to take his little family to one of France's nearby beaches, only to entice his two small sons.

From the beginning, Arthur was against it; the beach was a dangerous place for two young boys like Alfred and Matthew. What if one of them got hurt? What if one of them got lost? They disappeared in any crowd; he could only imagine what would happen at such a populated area like this one.

But Francis had insisted. When he had told the twins, they were overjoyed, begging and pleading to go. They had gone as far as clinging to their father's knees until he gave in.

And give in he did. He had lathered the boys three times in sunscreen before letting them venture off to play in the water. 'But not too far away!' he had reminded them as they pranced off.

Now, sitting with his, how he dreaded to admit, husband, observing their children, Arthur fidgeted, thinking of all the dreadful possibilities.

Noticing this, Francis swung his legs over the side of the chair, moving to grab one of Arthur's shaking hands.

"'ou worry far too much, mon lapin." Cringing at the pet name, Arthur sagged his shoulders, sighing. Maybe he was being a little irrational. "Every'zing ees going to be fine. Now, venez ici. Come 'ere." He held his arms out to the smaller blond, motioning him in with his fingers. Groaning, the Britt obliged.

If he were honest, it sort of felt nice to be wrapped up in Francis's toned arms, though he'd never admit it out loud. That would only feed his husband's already large enough ego.

Lying next to him, ear pressed against his bare chest, Arthur heard the light sound of the other's beating heart. It was almost comforting, and for once that day, he didn't feel so afraid for his children's safety.

Speaking of children, a few moments later, the smallest, youngest Bonnefoy-Kirkland son ran towards his parents, tripping over his tiny feet.

"Papa! Daddy!" he shouted loudly. Hearing the sound of his son's distressed cries, Arthur shot up onto his feet. Franticly, he caught his son as he shot himself towards him.

"Matthew!" Arthur began, smoothing back the boy's tangled, damp bangs. "What's the matter? What's happened? Are you alright? Why are you-"

A hand fell to his shoulder before a soft smile made way into his line of vision. Matthew was taken out of his arms, only to be placed on Francis's lap.

"Calm down, Arthur, let ze poor zing talk. Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas, mon petit? What's wrong?"

Hiccuping, Matthew cried out, "I-I was m-makin' a sand castle when this b-boy came up-he was real big. And h-he knocked it over. A-Alfie got really, really m-mad and yelled at 'em. Th-The boy yelled b-back and then h-he hit him r-really hard and now he won't g-get up!"

That was all Arthur needed to hear. Not a second after Matthew had finished telling the story was he racing towards the other end of the beach, anxious and afraid. Not Alfred, not his sweet little boy; he was the last person who should get hurt.

Spotting a little, curled up lump in the sand, he was quick to pick the boy up. Shushing Alfred as he sobbed, Arthur carded his fingers through his silky, blond hair.

"Oh, love, don't cry," he cooed, rocking him gently as the boy hid his teary face in his chest. "Come now, let's see how bad it is."

The sight was awful. A dark, black bruise covered Alfred's right eye, fresh and swollen. Anger bubbled up inside of him, but he pushed it back down as a fresh set of tears threatened to slip down his son's cheeks.

"No, no, no, it's alright. It just needs a little ice and rest, that's all. Oh, Alfred..." He kissed his forehead as he burst into tears once more. He simply held him, allowing him to have his scene.

Francis showed up soon after, Matthew clinging to his neck. The Frenchman pet down Alfred's wet hair, allowing the son he currently had a hold on to slip out of his grasp.

Matthew jumped up and down, attempting to get to his brother with no luck. Pouting, he stomped his foot stubbornly. Arthur ruffled his hair, giving him a reassuring grin. Satisfied with this, Matthew stuck his thumb in between his lips, cuddling against his dad's legs.

Alfred's sobs turned into soft, tired whimpers as he fell against Arthur's shoulder. Turning to face his husband, Arthur questioned him with his big, green eyes, receiving the answer in the other's bright blue ones. Mouthing a 'thank you,' Arthur turned back to his injured child.

"How about we get some ice cream before we go home, hm? Would you like that, poppet?" Earning a nod, Arthur held him closer. "Alright. Looks like we're getting ice cream then."

Perking up, Matthew clapped, shouting in delight. Chuckling, Francis looped his arms underneath the boy's armpits, swinging him upwards into a carrying position, emitting giggles from the tiny blond.

Alfred looked over at his father and brother, adjusting himself in Arthur's arms. Blinking up at him, he asked, "Is Mattie otay?"

Softening his expression, Arthur nodded. "Yes, he's fine."

"Dat's good," Alfred said. "Dat boy was really mean. No one's 'llowed to be mean to my little brother, and if dey are, den they'll get into a whole lotta trouble with me!" Encircling his arms around Arthur's neck, he explained, "Cause I'm da hero, and I'll always protect my Mattie!"

Beaming at his words, Matthew reached his arms out to his older twin. Moving so Matthew could hug the other, Francis grinned at Arthur, who returned the gesture.

"Now," Alfred said, pulling away from his brother, eyeing both of his parents. "Ice cream! Ice cream!"

"Alright, alright," Francis said with a laugh, resting Matthew on his hip. "Let's go get 'ou zome ice cream, mon petit cochon, my little piggy. Right, mon cher?" Matthew squealed when his father pressed a large kiss to his cheek. "Zat ees a yes. Mon garçons douces. My sweet boys, zey both agree." He stood behind Arthur, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. "And 'ou, mon Angleterre?"

Swatting him away, Arthur nodded. "_Oui_," he mocked teasingly. "I'm ready. Let's go."

Hand in hand with his husband, Arthur and his small yet happy family made their way to the line of shops along the beach with Alfred chattering away about all of the flavors he wanted, black eye completely forgotten.

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_**A/N: Written for my best friend for Christmas. I hope you all liked it! First Hetalia fanfic, hope it was fun to read!**_

_**Review?**_


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